The Last Thing to Empty

A glass of water sits on the table, its surface shimmering slightly. I am sure that if I look away, it will continue filling up. The certainty is a small wall against forgetting something I know I have left in another room.

There is a name for the house where this room might be, and it has two stories: an upper and a lower. But the house has changed since last I was here, its rooms different or even gone. I have never lived in this house before, and the water is the only familiar thing here. The water is cold to the touch. Its weight is normal.

I close the door behind me and turn the lock. From the darkness a small animal comes, its eyes shining white, its breath hot and wet on my neck. It is something like an owl but smaller, and I know that it will follow me, until there is no escaping its gaze.